


Close to Home

by amoeve



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoeve/pseuds/amoeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after S02E06, <i>Rebel Without a Pause</i>. Because lioness!Jane doesn’t let anyone get away with hurting Maura, and then, when she tells her, love reaches its logical conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close to Home

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance for any non-Americanisms, because my English is already swings between British and Hibernian, and for any non-grammarisms, because this hasn’t been beta’d.

_I’ve never had a way with women,  
_ _but the hills of Iowa make me wish that I could…  
_ _And I’ve never found a way to say I love you,_  
_but if the chance came by, oh, I would._

_— Dar Williams, ‘Iowa’_

*

Maura is so horrified that she goes pale under her perfectly-contoured layers of foundation, blusher, bronzer and finishing powder. “You said _what_?”

Jane has that uncomfortable prickling deep in her ribcage that accompanies all awkward situations and discussions about emotions, but she decides to tough this one out. She did it _for_ Maura, she doesn’t need to explain it _to_ her. “I told off your mom.” She tosses a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I wasn’t standing for the lame excuses.”

“Jane, that’s a terrible use of a disablist slur,” Maura tuts, frowning – and then she covers her mouth. “Did you actually say that?”

“No, I was eloquent,” Jane says indignantly, sitting up and ignoring the precarious shifting of the popcorn bowl in her lap. “Maybe not all fancy and refined like your modern urban water bottle commentary, but I made my point.”

“What was your point? To humiliate my mother at her installation?” Maura sounds flustered and confused, rather than angry, but Jane takes offense anyway.

“Hey! You should be way more important to her than some stupid installation. You shouldn’t have had to rely on my badge to get you in,” she says, scooping a few spilled grains of popcorn back from her knees into the bowl. “You shouldn’t have to rely on me to tell her she’s out of line, Maura!”

“Oh, Jane.” Maura looks… tearful. “You said that to her in public?”

Jane sets the popcorn firmly on the table, determined to have this out here and now. “Maura,” she says. “Your mom let you down. She didn’t keep you in the loop, she didn’t make the time to add you to the guest list. That’s bad, okay? And worse, she told herself that your busy and important job was what was getting in the way, because she didn’t want to be the one responsible for that searching look on your face to see what mood she’s in, how receptive she is, and how sad you are that you don’t seem to be good enough for her. _She felt guilty_. She _is_ guilty.” Jane realises she’s leaning forward, intently, and reaches out to touch Maura’s arm. “I wasn’t having her blame you for something that’s her fault.”

Tears have been welling in Maura’s eyes while Jane’s been talking, but it’s now that they start to slip down her face. “Oh, Jane.”

“And don’t tell me I was wrong,” Jane says, flopping back down, “because I’m not wrong, and I don’t regret it.”

Maura clears her throat. “You’re not normally this… expressive.”

Jane picks up the popcorn again. “Yeah, well, I don’t like seeing the people I love in pain.” She feels that awkward rush of prickling again when Maura bursts into tears and reaches for a handkerchief – an actual linen handkerchief with lace edges, like she’s some old-time British lady in a bustle and corset. Jane sighs, worrying that she’s ruined everything. Again. “Oh, Maura, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to humiliate your mom at her big show, I just… I had to say something. Come on, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, Jane, that’s not it,” Maura says, and she’s dabbing at her eyes with ridiculous daintiness. “I’m not upset with you.”

“Aw, but you’re upset,” Jane sighs. “I hate it when you’re upset.”

“You care about me so _much_ ,” Maura cries again – and then she _launches_ herself, extremely undignified and completely unladylike, across the coffee table to land in Jane’s lap.

“The popcorn, Maura!” Jane yells as it goes everywhere – the sofa, the carpet, the table, Maura’s hair, but Maura just continues to cry into Jane’s stomach.

“Well, yeah,” Jane says, nonplussed, trying to pick popcorn out of Maura’s hair and sort of smushing it down in a vaguely soothing fashion. Maura cries harder. “Dammit,” Jane mutters to herself. “Maura, c’mon, I’m no good at stuff like this.”

“Give yourself some credit, Jane, you took on my mother and she backed down,” Maura says, and if it’s muffled by sofa and stomach and spilled popcorn it’s still more eloquent than Jane is when reading the signs in the museum. “That’s a battle I could never win. I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“Well, she was being a knob, and I love you,” Jane sighs, and it comes out a little more impatient than she intended. She worries for a moment that she’s upset Maura again when her best friend sat up and gave her a piercing look. Jane shivers, her hand still in Maura’s hair. “What?”

Maura tilts her head, very slightly. “Well. I love you, too.”

Jane wonders why her mouth feels so damn dry. “Uh – really?” And she kicks herself for stuttering and wonders when Maura’s eyes became so damn fascinating.

Maura’s smile is warm, as it always has been, but now it’s warming Jane all the way down into her toes. “Yeah.” She blushes, and it’s _adorable_. “Quite a lot, actually.” Then she blinks, raises a hand to feel the heat of her cheeks, and says, “Oh, no, emotional stimuli are causing blood vessels in my face to widen and increase the flow of blood to my skin! Don’t think anything of it, Jane, beta-adrenoceptors are exerting a dilator mechanism on the basal tone of my facial cutaneous venous plexus – ”

Jane touches Maura’s face, and sees her freeze. “I have _no_ idea what that means,” Jane says, quietly, as if any loud sounds or her usual brash self will break whatever is trembling gently between them.

Maura swallows, and for a second her eyes flicker to Jane’s lips, and Jane feels her heartbeat speed up. Oh. That  _is_ what this is. Jane’s relieved that she hasn’t completely misread the situation. “Well, it’s been suggested that blushing is a visible physiological manifestation of the fight or flight reflex,” Maura says, a little breathless.

“Oh.” Jane runs her fingers across Maura’s cheek, down to the skin just above her collar. “Fight or flight?”

“Not that I want to either fight or flee,” Maura says, and Jane thinks  _fuck it_  and kisses her. It starts soft and genteel, a press of lips, and then Jane tastes the tip of Maura’s tongue and feels herself _growl_ and pull Maura down to her.

It feels _amazing_ , the softness of Maura’s breasts and hips so totally different from the angular weight of the men Jane usually prefers, the silky lips against hers so much more pleasant to kiss. She tangles a hand in Maura’s hair and wants to melt with pleasure when she hears Maura make soft, fervent noises of delight and desire.

After a few moments, Maura pulls back and blinks at her. “I meant it.”

Jane frowns. “Meant what? The kissing? I should hope so!”

Maura’s eyes sparkle, somewhere between grey and green. “Yes, of course. And also that I love you.” And she tucks her head down against Jane’s shoulder, if Jane is sad about the sudden lack of kissing… having Maura curled up in her arms feels like she’s a ship that’s finally come to harbour.

Jane presses her lips to Maura’s hair. “Maura...” She doesn’t mean to sound surprised, but… she thinks about it: all the time they spend together, despite how they’re different, such a divide in their backgrounds and families and money and yet…

In all the years she’s known Maura, she’s never been able to be away for her for long.

“I am so dumb.” Jane nudges Maura until she looks up again. “Seriously. I… we sleep in the same bed half the time!”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Maura smiles, and there’s just a touch of impishness there. “Please tell me that the clothes won’t always be a feature.”

Jane blushes, which infuriates her, so she plays up the bravado. “Hey now, when have clothes ever been my best feature? That’s definitely your department.”

“I think you’ll find that I have other excellent features,” Maura says, and it’s so _unbelievably_ appealing that Jane’s heart rate spikes and she tugs Maura down to kiss her again and she cannot believe she’s doing this with her best friend.

Maura’s weight shifts, and after a few moments Jane realises that there might be a less sexy reason for why it’s so hard to breathe. They sit up, and look at each other, and Jane laughs – she leans forward and brushes popcorn from Maura’s collar… and when her fingertips touch Maura’s skin, Jane, to her eternal shame, withdraws, just a little.

“You’re my best friend, Jane,” Maura says, and then she presses the back of her fingers against Jane’s cheek, and Jane wants to lean into her touch like a puppy being scratched. “Is this – is this strange?”

Jane takes hold of her arms, because she _knows_ that tremor in Maura’s voice. It only shows up when Maura’s worried that she’s doing something socially awkward, something that will turn other people away from her. “No,” she says, firmly, and is pleased that she believes it so deeply. “No. I might not be the best with words, but…” she flashes Maura a grin. “I really like kissing you. And, uh… since we sleep in the same bed, and we go out together all the time, and… I feel like we’ve kinda been dating for a while.”

Maura purses her lips, and pulls her fingers away from Jane’s face. “I’ve never dated someone for so long without having sex with them. But also… this is so new, and I wanted it, and I was afraid to want it, so I’m not sure I’m ready to, uh, you know...”

Jane takes Maura’s hands. “It might be a little precipitous.” And she appreciates Maura’s wider smile at her use of a four-syllable word, and as she feels the thrill, she thinks, _you moron, Jane, you’ve felt like this for years, why didn’t you realise before?_ “But, uh… I’m definitely up for more kissing.” She stands, and because she’s still holding Maura’s hands, Maura comes too. “But this time, we’re doing it in the comfort of my bed.”

Maura takes a breath. “Really?”

Jane nods, sort of side-to-side. “I guess this is new. But it also feels… familiar. And awesome. So I want to.”

Maura tugs Jane back for a second, and wraps her arms around her. “I can’t believe that you shouted at my mother for me.”

Jane grimaces. “I can’t believe that your mom is the reason we started kissing. And wow, I’m glad you didn’t bring her up when we were actually in the bedroom.”

Maura steps back, and raises an eyebrow. “Speaking of that. Weren’t you taking me somewhere?”

And Jane doesn’t care that her room’s a mess, the way she’d feel the need to keep up appearances in front of someone else, because this _Maura_. Maura’s seen everything of Jane, has accepted her the way she is.

And they do kiss, quite a lot, and it’s utterly delicious. And then, when the weight of the day hits them, Maura wipes off her make-up, they climb into a pair of oversized tees and Maura falls asleep in Jane’s arms. It’s so familiar that Jane feels a peculiar thrill that this is still normal. She thought it would be strange, it would be strained, but – no. It’s just a little bit better, because now there’s kissing, and the promise of sex later, and Jane can’t imagine why this is such an epiphany.

She feels like an idiot.

In the morning, when Maura wakes up, Jane wants to tell her that it’s not weird, it’s wonderful – and that she doesn’t want it to be any other way, ever again.

She presses her cheek against Maura’s hair and lets herself drift.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t really named after Vienna Teng’s _Close to Home_ , in the sense that the song doesn’t really fit what’s happening. But it’s stuck in my head and it seemed to suit, so... title.
> 
> Dar Williams’ _Iowa_ is a wonderful song about longing and denial. It’s not entirely appropriate either, because this is basically fluff, but it often pops into my head when I think about Jane and Maura. It’s just one of those things, I guess.


End file.
